


Wedding Bells

by queenkrazykat



Series: Love and War [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Episode: s07e08 Time for a Wedding, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Light Angst, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character(s), Protective Dean Winchester, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Supportive Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenkrazykat/pseuds/queenkrazykat
Summary: This time, Emma decides to trump fate and invites the Winchesters for an impromptu weekend getaway in Las Vegas. She should have known by now that when it comes to these two, things never go as planned. [Based on: 7x08 Season Seven, Time for a Wedding!]
Relationships: Becky Rosen/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Love and War [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075211
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

For the thirty-seventh time that day, Emma reread the text she had received from Jen.

_ Need to talk to you. _

That was it. After months of silence, this was all she had gotten from her. Five words only, but they had filled Emma with a sense of dread that seemed to fester in her gut and gnaw at her nerves. Her imagination was constantly running wild, contriving dreadful possibilities—maybe Jen was finally going to admit that she had blamed Emma for her brother’s death all along. Maybe she was coming to sever all connection between them for good. Maybe—

“Hello- _ oooo? _ Earth to Emma.”

Emma started and looked up. Dean was waving his hand in front of her face. “You alright?” he said, letting his hand drop back down. “You looked like you were a million miles away.”

Emma shook her head slightly. “Yeah, sorry.”

Dean nodded towards the cell phone in her hand, taking a sip of his beer as he did so. “Waiting for a text? Is there a man in your life that I don’t know about?” A smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

Emma rolled her eyes. “If it was, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.” She tapped the rim of her half-empty glass of cherry vodka. 

Dean gasped dramatically and raised a hand to his chest in mock anguish. “Oh! I’m hurt. Truly—”

“Shut it.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed—a wild, uninhibited, gleeful laugh, one that Emma had never heard before. Perhaps it had something to do with the three empty beer bottles beside him and the half-empty one in his hand—whatever the reason, it was a nice sound.

The bar seemed to have become even more crowded over the past hour—unsurprising, considering it was a Saturday night. Drai’s was one of the few bars in Las Vegas that Emma actually liked—one, because they made the most amazing Irish Coffees, and two, the music wasn’t so loud that you had to shout yourself hoarse to be heard.

Dean was now eyeing the waitress serving the table next to them. As Emma looked on, amused, Dean gave her a wink. The waitress rolled her eyes, but the small smile and the slight flush on her cheeks did not escape Emma’s attention.

She ordered another drink, against her better judgement. She had never been one to drink much, but Dean was surprisingly entertaining when drunk. He laughed a little more loudly, talked a little more heartily, smiled a little more widely. 

“Where’s Sam?” she said, forcing Dean to cease flirting with the waitress and turn back to her. “He was supposed to be back an  _ hour _ ago.”

Dean scoffed and took another swig from his bottle. “Him and his granola-munching hikes. I’ll never understand why he chooses to go off into the wilderness like some hippie instead hanging out with a bunch of girls in Las Vegas.”

Emma felt the need to defend Sam. “I mean—it’s not  _ that _ terrible an idea. Hiking can be really fun if—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean interrupted, digging around in his pocket for his phone. "I’ll call him—no wait, he just texted me.” He rapidly scanned the text, scoffed again, and showed it to Emma. 

_ 348 Twain Ave _

_ WEAR FED SUIT! _

Emma blinked. “Fed suit?” She glanced up at Dean. “He’s on a case?  _ Now? _ ”

Dean irritably shoved his phone back in his pocket. “Looks like it. Shame.” His eyes flicked, almost involuntarily, towards the waitress, who was now heading back to the bar, expertly balancing a tray full of empty glasses in one hand.

“Come on, Winchester,” Emma said, tugging his sleeve. “You can always get laid  _ after _ we get rid of whatever supernatural  _ mofo _ Sam’s managed to track down this time.”

* * *

They traipsed outside into the cool night air. The warmth of the day had faded, to be replaced by a gentle breeze that caused goosebumps to rise on Emma’s skin as they headed towards the Impala. But the vodka was keeping her warm. 

As always, Vegas was lit up with myriads of of pink, blue, purple, red, white—every color under the sun. The skyscrapers that stood stoically against the inky black sky gave a sense of something monumental, of something expansive and unbridled. Here, the seven sins ran free. It was truly worthy of the moniker ‘Sin City.’

It took them a little over half an hour to reach Number 348—a small, brightly painted chapel that could have been straight out of a Disney movie once you ignored the overgrown garden weeds and the peeling paint. Just like everything else in the city, it was brightly lit with strings of red and purple lights, which Emma reflected to be a terrible choice. By now, the alcohol was definitely hitting her, making her feel slightly dizzy. She wished once again that she had stopped after the second drink.

“This looks like one of those Vegas wedding chapels,” she said, exchanging an apprehensive look with Dean. He merely shrugged as if to say,  _ might as well get it over with _ .

The chapel opened into a long corridor, with a set of double doors at the far end. The black-and-white-tiled floor clacked under Emma’s shoes as they quickly and silently crossed to the doors. Emma slipped, nearly pitched headfirst into the wall, but managed to right herself. Dean looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

“Of course,” Emma said huffily, as if he’d just asked her a very personal and insulting question.

One of the dim hanging bulbs overhead flickered. Dean’s eyes shot upwards and he drew his gun, silently gesturing that they should keep moving towards the double doors. Emma pulled out her own gun and tiptoed on his heels.

They reached the double doors and Dean paused, a hand raised, but before he could lay a hand on them, they flew open.

Sam was standing on the other side, beaming at them. He was wearing a suit and a pink boutonniere, and his green eyes were alight with excitement. “Dean! Emma! You guys came!” He looked down, noticing that they both had their guns drawn. “Don’t worry, you won’t need those.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open, and before he could say a word, Sam shunted them both forwards into the room. Emma had been right—they were indeed in a chapel, with baby pink flowers for decorations and a flashing neon sign above the altar that said  _ CUPID LOVES YOU _ . The arches were surprisingly artfully decorated with fake creepers that wound their way around the pillars, giving the room a surprisingly charming atmosphere.

“I thought you were out becoming one with the land—or some crap,” Dean said, thoroughly confused. His mind immediately jumped to various possibilities—maybe it was a prank. Or some elaborate scheme to trap a monster. But the largest possibility of all—and the one that Dean refused to fully acknowledge for fear of being right—was that Sam had gone completely, totally, bananas.

Sam put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and moved him into position in front of the altar. “There we go,” he muttered. “Now...” He began to pat his pockets, clearly searching for something—and finally pulled a slightly crumpled boutonniere just like his. 

“Oh, hello,” Dean said, just noticing what he assumed to be the priest—a fat little Santa-Clause-like figure in a cassock. The priest smiled and nodded.

Sam pinned the boutonniere to Dean’s suit and turned around to look at Emma, who was still standing where he had left her, looking uncertain. “You don’t mind being the bridesmaid, do you?”

Emma’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

Apparently satisfied with her response, Sam picked up a bridal bouquet from one of the small white tables that had been pushed back against the wall, and thrust it into Emma’s hands. “Here we go,” Sam said happily, and he shunted Emma forwards until she was standing opposite Dean underneath the arch. She was a very odd sight in her formal pantsuit, clutching a bridal bouquet in her hands.

Dean had had enough. “Okay, seriously—what is all this for?”

“Pink is for loyalty,” Sam said, gesturing to his boutonniere and the bouquet Emma was holding. She was now looking at it as though she might throw up in it.

“What?” Dean was struggling to comprehend. “What—are we wedding crashers? Looking for a siren or something?”

“No, nothing like that,” Sam said patiently. “This might be a little sudden. But life is short, so I’ll keep this shorter.” He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m in love. And I’m getting married.”

Before Dean could reply, the double doors opened again, and the bride walked in. She was wearing a frilly dress that covered even her toes, so she looked like she was floating. Her veil covered her face, so he could catch only a faint glimpse of her face. Sam was all smiles as he helped her up the steps of the altar and gently lifted the veil.

“Dean!” Becky squealed. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Dean said nothing. Emma was standing with her mouth clamped tightly shut, her face pale.

“Congratulations would be nice,” Sam said a little condescendingly. Behind him, Emma retched violently and said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

* * *

“How did this happen?” Dean demanded of Sam and Becky. They were sitting next to each other at one of the small tables, holding hands and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes every few seconds. It made Dean want to strangle Sam. 

“Short version?” Sam said. “We met. We ate and—and talked and fell in love. And, you know, here we are.” He gestured vaguely all around them as if to emphasize the point.

Dean looked helplessly towards Emma, but she was simply standing in a corner, looking faintly green. When she caught Dean’s eye, she just shook her head as if to say,  _ oh no, don’t you dare bring me into this. _

“Okay,” Dean said, turning back to his brother. “Ignoring everything else—like the fact that you met this girl  _ once _ two years ago—have you forgotten the average lifespan of your hook-ups?”

“If anyone knows that, it’s me!” Becky said, before Sam could reply. She looked adoringly at him. “I mean, I’ve read every book. So, open eyes, you know? Open eyes.”

Now Dean felt like  _ he _ was going to be sick.

“Look, Dean—it’s simple,” Sam said. “If something good is happening—I have to jump on it—now. Today. Period.”

“Fine,” Dean said grumpily. “Did you even make sure she’s—”

“Salt, holy water, everything,” Becky interrupted, holding out her arm, which sported a small cut. “See? Not a monster.” She turned back to Sam with a simpering smile. “Just the right girl for your brother.”

Just then, the priest walked up to Becky and Sam and held out a folder. “Excuse me,” he said apologetically. “But the bill...”

“I got it,” Becky said happily. She stood up and took the folder. “You guys do your brotherly thing.”

The moment Becky had walked out of earshot, Emma strode over to Sam, tossing aside the bouquet of flowers she was still holding. “What the  _ fuck _ , Sam?”

Sam looked affronted. “Hey. We’re in a chapel.”

But this only served to infuriate her more. “Seriously? You’re marrying this random bimbo? Out of nowhere?”

Dean was taken aback by Emma’s intensity. So was Sam, apparently, who looked rather annoyed now. “That’s my wife you’re talking about,” he said, his voice betraying just a hint of anger.

Emma huffed and walked away again, muttering under her breath. “She’s got a point, Sam,” Dean said. “It’s been—what?—four days?”

Sam’s patience had run out. He stood up and dusted off his suit for no apparent reason, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “You know what, Dean? How about this? Becky and I are going to go up to her place in Delaware. Why don’t you and Emma try and wrap your domes around this, get a little supportive, then give us a call?” He clapped Dean on the shoulder and then walked over to Becky, who was now talking earnestly with the priest.

Dean puffed out his cheeks and then walked back to Emma, who was standing sulking by the doorway. “Please tell me he’s lost his mind,” she said, “and not marrying a girl he’s known for  _ four _ days.”

“Come on,” he sighed. “We’re going to have to go up to Delaware tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“To pay our respects to the happy couple, that’s why.”

Emma sighed dramatically, and then mimed putting a gun in her mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Song pairing** \- [GIRLFRIEND // AVRIL LAVIGNE](https://open.spotify.com/track/45hOioMDJktr86iKDHC8gr?si=7vZ2AcOzQSqMqDL5qVnWnw)  
> 

They had a very late start the next day. Dean was reduced to banging on Emma’s room door for a full ten minutes before she walked out, looking supremely bad-tempered and wearing sunglasses. She also insisted on stopping for ‘rations’—which turned out to be three packets of fun-size Snickers—at the grocery store. As an afterthought, Dean also stopped and bought a waffle iron as a present, which he stuffed into his carry-on.

Emma spent most of the flight ripping through the Snickers and listening to music on her iPod. “You sure you’re alright?” Dean asked her for what had to be the third time. 

“Yep,” she said, before inhaling two Snickers and ripping open a third.

“You’re getting through those awfully fast,” he remarked. “What are you, PMS-ing or something?” He flinched as a Snickers hit him squarely on the nose. “Jesus, woman!”

“Say that to me again and I will kick you in the nuts.”

Fortunately, Emma slept through the rest of the flight and woke up only as they touched down in Delaware, still bad-tempered, but with a hangover that was considerably milder than before.

* * *

Becky’s place was a neat little apartment, a short drive away from the airport. Dean hoisted the waffle iron into his arms and gestured for Emma to ring the doorbell, which she did with rather more force than necessary.

Sam opened the door.

Dean plastered a smile on his face. He was still entirely thrown by the whole thing, but he figured that by playing along, he might find out exactly what was going on. “Us being supportive,” he said, holding up the waffle iron. “Congratulations to you and the missus.”

Emma, however, had other ideas. “So, this is real?” she said, striding past Sam and stopping in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. “This isn’t some elaborate joke, you’re actually still married to her?”

Sam frowned. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “This is real, Emma.”

Emma struggled with herself for a few seconds and then said, “Congratulations.” Her mouth was puckered as though she was going to sneeze.

“Thank you.”

Dean handed the waffle iron to Sam. “So, we good?”

Sam shrugged. “Suppose so.”

Dean rubbed his hands together. “Good, because I’m sniffing a case in town.”

“A case?” Emma said, looking surprised. “You never told me.”

Dean smiled sarcastically. “Well, that’s because you were passed out and hungover.”

“I was not—” she began loudly, and then stopped abruptly at the accusatory look on Dean’s face. 

“Right,” Dean continued. “So—this guy wins the Powerball, gets squished by a truck a day later. Second guy went from the bench to the majors. Oh, and one week later, his  _ face _ was the catcher’s mitt, huh?”

A voice floated out from one of the other rooms. “Our first thought was crossroads demon, but there’s that ten-year timeframe on collecting souls.”

Dean looked around, startled. "That’s—that’s not—?"

Sam shrugged apologetically and led the way into the bedroom, where Becky was standing in front of a wall headed “Sam and Becky’s Investigation”. Underneath, there were various newspaper clippings about the deaths pinned to the wall.

Emma’s mouth fell open.

“Then there’s the possibility of a cursed object,” Becky continued, “like in ‘Bad Day at Black Rock’, but we haven’t been able to connect the vics yet.”

Emma shook her head in bewilderment. “Sorry, ‘Bad Day at Black Rock’? What is that?”

Becky rolled her eyes at her. “Uh, it’s from the third book in the Supernatural series. Hell- _ o _ ?”

Emma looked startled at being talked to like this. “Series?” she scoffed. “What series?”

Dean sighed. This was not something he wanted to get into right now. “I’ll explain later,” he said to Emma. “Right now, we need to get going.”

“Dean, about that...” Sam said. He took Becky’s hand. “Becky and I are kind of working this case together.”

Dean stared at his brother for a second, and then opened his mouth—but Emma beat him to it. “What?” she demanded. “Sam, you can’t be serious?”

“Emma, I’ve had enough,” Sam said, betraying the slightest hint of anger. “This is my  _ wife _ .”

Emma didn’t back down. “She may be your  _ wife _ , Sam, but the fact is— _ she’s not a hunter _ . You do know that you’re actually putting her in danger by allowing her to work this case, right?”

Becky huffed angrily. “I may not be a hunter, but I’ve read all the books!”

“What books?” Emma shrieked in desperation. “Am I going crazy here? Why is nobody finding this as insane as I am?”

“Emma, cool it,” Dean said angrily. “This isn’t helping.”

Emma looked from Dean, who looked exasperated, to Sam, who looked quite disappointed, to Becky, who looked strangely smug. “Fine,” she said. “I don’t know exactly what kind of mojo you’re working here, Becky, but you can be sure as hell that I’ll find out.” She turned and strode out of the room to the front door.

Dean watched her slam the door behind her with unnecessary force, and turned back to Sam and Becky with a heavy sigh. “This is… look—Becky’s not the only one who’s had her dreams fulfilled in this town, alright? The other guy who won the lotto—he’s now roadkill and the major league guy had his face crushed by a ball. Don’t you think this is a little bit of coincidence?”

“What Becky and I have is real, Dean,” Sam said, his face hardening. “And if you can’t accept that, that’s your problem, not ours.”

“Come on, Sam!” Dean said, a little desperately. “You know, if you really did care about her, you’d be worried. Because people who do get their little fantasies granted or whatever seem to end up dead pretty quick.”

“You know, I went after  _ her _ , Dean,” Sam said. “Maybe that’s what’s bugging you—that I’m moving on with my life. I mean, you took care of me, and that’s great. But I don’t need you anymore.”

The last sentence seemed to pierce Dean’s heart like a knife. He stood staring at his younger brother for a few seconds, who stared defiantly back, one arm protectively wrapped around Becky’s shoulders. 

“Whatever,” Dean said finally, and left the apartment, fighting the urge to look behind him one last time. 

* * *

Emma was outside, leaning against their rental car. She had her sunglasses on again, and her voice sounded suspiciously thick. “Found something else,” she said, thrusting the newspaper she was holding at Dean, who unfurled it and smoothed it out. The headlines read,  _ Junior salesman leapfrogs to CEO at Mutual Freedom Insurance _ .

“You think the CEO is the lead?” Dean said.

“Yep,” Emma said flatly. "I don’t have any IDs other than my FBI one, though—got any extra ones?"

* * *

The office was a catastrophe of white—white ceilings, white desks, white sofas and white flowers in white vases. Over at the secretary’s desk, a haughty-looking woman was saying something angrily to the harassed-looking secretary. Dean stole another sideways glance at Emma. She had calmed down a good deal, and was almost back to normal, except for her eyes, which were puffy and red. “You okay?” Dean said.

“Yep,” Emma said. She looked sideways to see Dean still looking at her shrewdly. “Seriously, I’m alright. I guess I just had a little too much to drink last night.”

“You’re telling me.” Dean snorted.

Sam and Becky were just leaving the CEO’s office. Sam gave them a huge smile as they walked up to Dean and Emma, but Becky seemed less than thrilled to be running into them again, and threw Emma a dark look. Emma noticed Becky’s stare and said, “Right back at you, sweetie.”

Sam frowned slightly at the exchange but didn’t say anything about it. “No point going in,” he said to Dean. “The guy doesn’t know anything.”

Dean blinked. “You sure?”

“Positive. Becky grilled him like a pro.” He nudged her shoulder affectionately. "She’s a real natural."

Emma snorted derisively. “Yeah, I’m sure. Come on, Dean. I bet we can go home and sing nursery rhymes and braid each other’s hair now, since these two  _ clearly _ have it all under control.”

A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw. “You know, Emma, I’m getting real sick and tired of you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” She turned and stalked off towards the CEO’s office. “You coming or what?” she called to Dean over her shoulder.

Dean stood frowning there for a moment, looking back and forth between Sam’s retreating figure and Emma’s rigid form as she waited impatiently for him to catch up. And then it hit him.

* * *

“What kind of demon deal is this?” Emma muttered to Dean, as they stepped off the elevator and into the mostly empty lobby. “He makes a deal and then collects his due just two, three days later?”

“You got me,” Dean said under his breath. He glanced back at the CEO’s wife—the same haughty woman they had seen talking to the secretary earlier. She was holding her hand to her chest and breathing heavily, her face as white as a sheet. “At least we’ve got some concrete information. We’ve got to find Sam pronto. Speaking of Sam,” he added, as they stepped out of the suffocating building into the sunshine.

“Yeah?” Emma said, scrabbling around in her bag for her sunglasses. Hearing no reply from Dean, she looked up at him to find him standing there, a smug smile on his face. “What are you looking so smug about?”

“You and Sam,” he said, giving her a knowing look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Dean said genially. 

“You’re an idiot,” Emma huffed, her cheeks bright red. She stalked off towards the car. “Now let’s go find that idiot brother of yours.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, I’m glad that whole thing’s over,” Emma said, leaning against the doorframe of Becky’s living room. “But I really expected Crowley to be more...” She waved her hands around vaguely. 

“ _ Gifted _ in the height department?” Dean sniggered, leaning back against the wall and casting another look at Becky and Sam, who were sitting at the small kitchen table with the annulment papers between them. Sam, as usual, looked a little comical with his long legs tucked under the small round table, and Becky was sitting slumped in her seat, her eyes watery.

“Intimidating,” Emma corrected. “Short people can be intimidating too.”

Sam was signing the annulment, his face impassive. He screwed the cap back onto the pen with unnecessary force and slid the papers across the table to Becky. Becky took the pen, uncapped it, and then held it poised over the paper, her hand trembling slightly. “It... it wasn’t all bad, right?”

Sam simply looked at her unsmilingly, and Becky quailed under his gaze. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Sam’s gaze softened slightly. “Well, you did save my life. So—thanks for that.”

Becky’s face brightened. “So, I’ll see you again?”

“Yeah, probably not.”

Becky’s face fell again, and this time, she silently began signing the papers.

“I’m going to load up the car,” Dean said to Emma, and then left.

Sam flipped through the annulment papers, presumably checking that everything was in order, and then wordlessly handed them back to Becky. He picked up his bag, which was leaning against his chair, and silently left the room without even so much as a goodbye to her.

Becky watched him go wistfully, then threw the papers back onto the table and buried her face in her hands.

Emma hovered by the door uncertainly for a moment, and then slowly walked over to her and touched her shoulder. “Erm... Becky?”

“What?” Becky demanded, her voice thick with tears.

“Look, I know you’re upset. And sometimes, it can feel like you’ll never find anyone else, but trust me, the right guy is out there for you.”

Becky looked up, her eyes red, her face splotchy. “Yeah?” she said suspiciously.

“Yeah. Of course. You just have to be yourself, you know? Do your own thing. Er—whatever that is.” She hesitated, and then added, “Also, I’m sorry... for calling you a bimbo.”

Becky shrugged. “It’s okay. I called you a bitch, so we’re even.”

Emma blinked. “You never called me that.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Becky’s mouth. “Not to your face.”

Emma gave a quiet exhalation of amusement. “I guess I deserved that.”

* * *

When Emma walked downstairs, she found Sam waiting by the side of the building, toying with the strap of his bag. “Oh, hey,” he said, when he saw her. “Dean’s gone to bring the car around. He couldn’t find a parking space here.”

“Hmm.” Emma leaned against the wall next to him. “How are you doing, Sam?”

Sam looked up at the sky. “Honestly? I feel really weirded out by everything that happened.”

“I don’t blame you.” She hesitated for a second, and then added, “I’m sorry about... well, all the stuff I said. Guess it was pretty unwarranted. I may have overreacted a little.”

Sam shook his head “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, seriously—I’m sorry.”

He turned to face her, one side of his cheek tilted up in a smile. “Apology accepted. Besides, I also said some pretty messed up shit when I was dosed up.”

Emma feigned being shocked, and let out a huge fake gasp. “Oh—you mean she  _ wasn’t _ your soulmate?” She put on deep voice, and scrunched her face up. “We met. We ate. We talked. And we fell in  _ love _ . What we have is  _ true love _ —”

Sam’s face broke into an exasperated smile and he shook his head. “Oh shut up,” he said, as Emma burst out laughing.

They were interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. Emma fished it out, the laughter dying instantly when she saw the name on the screen:  _ Jen. _

“Just a sec,” she said distractedly to Sam, and then walked a short distance away for some privacy. “Jen?” Her voice came out hoarse. Her throat was suddenly dry. 

“Hey, Emma.”

Emma’s stomach twisted itself into knots, a weird mixture of relief and apprehension. Every grim scenario she had invented instantly came back to her. But Jen didn’t sound mad, or upset; in fact, she didn’t sound like much of anything.

“Jen, I—”

“That thing we need to talk about,” Jen interrupted. “I need to see you. Face to face.”

Emma ran a hand over her forehead. “Er... well, I’m not in San Francisco right now,” she said. “So—”

“When will you be back?”

“I can be there by tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

* * *

Emma was in her hotel room, packing, when the door burst open and Dean waltzed in. He clapped his hands. “Let’s go, Stallard! Time to see which one of us can out-drink the other...” His voice trailed away as he saw what she was doing. “What—you’re leaving?”

Emma sighed and turned around. “Did you forget how to knock?”

Dean ignored the question. Instead, he walked over and sat down on the bed, tugging out one of the books from her backpack. “You packed your  _ books _ for a trip like this?” He flipped through it.

Emma straightened, saw what he was holding, and then strode over to him and snatched it back. “That’s mine,” she snapped. 

“Somebody’s cranky.”

“Somebody needs to shut up.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Okay, out with it, Emma. What’s bothering you?”

Emma scoffed, pretending to be engrossed in folding her t-shirts. “Nothing’s bothering me, okay?”

In response, Dean simply settled further back onto her bed and pulled one of the pillows onto his lap and cuddled it. It was a gesture that plainly said,  _ I’ve got all day. _

Emma sighed, and then unceremoniously stuffed her last t-shirt into the suitcase. “Remember Jonathan?"

Dean’s smile faded, and he nodded slightly. “Sandusky.”

Emma sat down on the bed, and ran a hand wearily over her face. “His sister, Jen... she hasn’t spoken to me in months.” She kept her head bowed, her gaze focused firmly on her hands in her lap. “A few days ago, she sent me a message. She said she had something important she wanted to talk about.” Tears pricked at the back of her eyelids and she angrily blinked them away. “And... I don’t know why, but... I’m terrified. I’m terrified of looking at her and knowing that I was the last person to see her brother alive, that... and this whole stupid thing with Sam getting married, and... the nightmares, the fucking nightmares.” It was taking everything she had in her to stop tears from falling, to keep her voice steady.

There was the creak of bedsprings. Emma felt the bed shift, and Dean was now sitting next to her. 

“And it just feels like... everything is suffocating, like I’m breathing smoke in, and...” Her voice shook and died.

A strong arm pressed against her back. Dean had an arm around her shoulder, and his grip on her own arm was tight. “Look, I get it,” he said. His voice was low. “I get that feeling of being out of control, feeling like—like you’re drowning, and nobody else sees it.”

Emma simply squeezed her eyes shut.

Dean continued to speak in a soft voice. “But whatever happens, we’ve got your back, yeah?” He squeezed her shoulder lightly. “You’re one of us now. A friend. And whatever happens, we’ve got you. Me and Sam.”

Emma tried to discreetly wipe her eyes, but she was sure Dean saw the tears anyway. To her relief, he didn’t say anything about it. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

Dean’s mouth curved into a grin. “Now... since Sam pretty much ruined this trip, we figure we owe you a drink, at the very least.”

Emma laughed. “I need to finish packing—”

Dean waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah. You can do that later. Right now, you’re coming out with us for a drink!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Song pairing** \- [WHERE'S MY LOVE (ACOUSTIC) // SYML](https://open.spotify.com/track/1eKvw144NYPlDjR0wQoGLW?si=55QAxFPZQLWt8Z70nkBKng)  
> 

Emma was facing her second hangover that week when her taxi dropped her off back at her apartment in San Francisco, all thanks to Dean Winchester, who was a little too good at convincing people to have “just one more drink”. Thankfully, the headache had subsided from a sharp, insistent knocking to a dull pounding at the side of her head. 

To her surprise, Jen was waiting for her already, leaning against her blue Subaru, face turned up towards the sun, wavy blonde hair shining in the sunlight. As always, she was dressed immaculately—skinny jeans, black boots, and a flowery blouse, with not a strand of hair out of place.

“Wow,” Jen said, looking Emma up and down. “You look like shit.”

Emma scowled, shielding her eyes from the sun, which seemed to be too bright even though she was wearing her sunglasses. “Thanks. Did you come here just to insult me, or do you actually have something you want to talk about?”

Jen looked a little surprised at Emma’s response. She was silent for a moment, and then she shrugged. “Shall we go inside, then?”

* * *

The apartment was a mess, but Emma was too hungover to care. Books were strewn all over the couch and the coffee table, and her bed was practically drowning under a sea of her clothes. She'd spent a long time—far longer than usual—picking out clothes to take with her to Vegas, which may or may not have had anything to do with a certain tall, green-eyed hunter with a soft voice.

Jen stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, eyes roving over the scattered books while Emma dumped her bag in her bedroom and prepared some coffee. She handed Jen a mug, carelessly swept some of the books off the couch and onto the floor and gestured for her to sit. Jen sat precariously, and Emma perched on the edge of one of the accent chairs. “So what's up?” she said. The old nervousness was back; butterflies were fluttering frantically in her stomach. She took a sip of her coffee to try and steady her nerves.

Jen was silent for some time. She stared expressionlessly at the carpet, her hands clasped around her mug. Her brown eyes were strangely glazed over. “There’s no easy way to say this,” she said finally. Her voice was low and urgent. “So I’m just going to give it to you straight.”

Emma pressed her lips together. 

Jen took a deep breath, looked up, and said, “I’ve decided to give up hunting.”

There was stunned silence for a few seconds. Emma sat frozen on the couch, the mug of coffee burning her palms, but she could hardly feel it. “Why?” Her voice was reduced to a croak.

Jen’s face was flushed, and she was tapping her leg, the way she always did when she was nervous. “Come on, Em,” she said, leaning forward and placing her untouched mug of coffee on the coffee table. “This can't have been a surprise.”

Emma abandoned her coffee too and leaned forward, hands clasped together. “No, but... I was expecting something worse.”

Jen raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Emma shrugged, her nervousness dissipating like water evaporating on a hot day. Jen waited for her to say something, but when she didn’t, she continued, “Look, after Jonathan...”

It was as though an invisible hand had squeezed Emma’s guts tight.

“...I don't see the point.”

“The point of hunting?” Emma said abruptly. There was an accusatory tone in her voice, one that she couldn't help.

A flash of hurt crossed Jen’s face, but she immediately recovered and sat back, crossing her arms defensively. “You know I was only in it because of Jonathan, right?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Jon and his goddamn revenge quest!” Jen snapped. “His—his  _ obsession _ to find that skinwalker that killed our father—that was something  _ he _ wanted, not me.” She seemed a little disconcerted by her own outburst and relaxed, letting her shoulders droop. When she spoke next, her voice was sad and deflated. “I figured I could either live a boring, normal life and worry about him from a thousand miles away or...” She shook her head and buried her face in her hands. 

Emma didn't know what to say. The Jen she knew had always been a very enthusiastic hunter, always eager for the hunt. But now that she thought about it... all the hunts they had ever been on... Jen had always, always volunteered to go with her brother. She had only been interested in keeping him safe.

Emma cleared her throat. “You figured the best way to keep him safe was by being with him.”

Jen looked up. Her blonde hair had gotten a lot longer in the last few months, and it brushed the arm of the couch. “Pretty much.” She shrugged. “Why do you think you and Jon got along so well? It's because you both have that hunger, that  _ thirst _ .” She looked up at Emma. Her brown eyes were wary. “It scares me sometimes.”

Emma rubbed her clammy hands on her jeans. “Well...” The word came out as a croak, and she cleared her throat determinedly. “What are you going to do?”

Jen looked a little relieved by the change of topic. “Honestly, I have no idea,” she said. “Move to Memphis maybe. Get a dog.”

Emma ran a hand through her hair. “Jen,” she said. “Is this really what you want?”

Jen's brown eyes were unwavering. “Yes.”

Emma shrugged. “Well... okay then.”

“Okay.” Jen stared at Emma for a second, strangely hesitant, and then she added, “Come with me.”

For a second, Emma couldn't comprehend. "To Memphis?"

“Yeah.” There was a faint smile on her face. Her voice was earnest. “Leave this behind, Em. This whole world of monsters and demons—leave it all behind.” Her voice was soft, so soft. “Give the apple-pie life another chance.”

Emma hesitated. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t know what to do, more that she didn’t know how to give an answer. She opened her mouth, saw Jen’s hopeful expression, and closed it again.

The slight smile dipped from Jen's face. “That's a no, isn't it?”

Emma didn't know what to say. How could she explain to Jen that hunting was everything to her? Her old self, the one that had wanted to be a doctor, blissfully unaware of what lurked in the shadows, was long gone, her world was greyed out like an old black and white movie. She was flimsy, insubstantial. It was in the here and now that she saw the colors—when she was on a case, knife in hand, gun cocked, heart beating frantically. “I'm sorry, Jen.”

The smile was gone completely now. But still, Jen didn't look surprised. “I can't say I wasn't expecting it.”

Abruptly, she stood up. 

Reflexively, Emma stood up too.

Jen looked around the apartment one last time, as though she was trying to commit it all to memory. 

“I guess this is it, then.” Emma clasped her hands tightly in front of her, trying to ignore the bowling ball of a weight that had dropped into her chest.

Jen whirled around and frowned. “What do you mean?”

Emma started. “Well—like—I thought you—I mean, you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Jen narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I am, but—” she stopped suddenly, in mid-sentence, and then began to laugh. 

Emma blinked. “What the—”

“Did—did you think I was just—going to ditch you?” Jen said, in between laughs.

A flush crept into Emma's cheeks, warm and red. “No,” she said stubbornly.

“Yeah, you did.” Jen was still grinning. “You dumbass. You really think after everything we’ve been through, I’d just cut you off?”

“What was I supposed to think?” Emma said, abashed. “You were talking like we were never going to see each other again! Not to mention the fact that you've been avoiding me for months!”

Jen's smile faded a little. “Yeah. I just—I don’t know, I guess I just needed time away from... everything.” She was silent for a moment, and then she grinned again and shook her head. “Wow. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.”

Emma crossed her arms, still a little disgruntled. “Glad I could help.”

Jen chuckled and pulled Emma in for a hug. “Come here, you idiot.”

The feeling of Jen’s arms around her was familiar. Her heart felt lighter than it had felt in weeks. She blinked away the tears she felt prickling at her eyelids; she hadn’t realized how relieved she was to know that she wasn’t going to lose her best friend.


End file.
